The Customs Agent

River Flats

Marshall Raintree listened passively as both Harlan and Link related the events of their mission once again from the start and this time right to the grisly end. He never interrupted, never asked any questions, just sat there like a monument, listening.

"That's the entire story, Marshall." Harlan leaned back and stretched his shoulders.

"The trafficking is still going on too," Link added. "Only the Tong have it all to themselves now - no customs."

They both waited, watching the big man as he made some funny looking notes in a worn booklet.

"So what now, Marshall?"

Raintree studied Harlan a moment. "I give my report to the governor along with recommendations."

Harlan's head bobbed and he spread his hands. "And?"

Raintree turned his huge frame toward Harlan and the chair scraped threateningly on the wooden floor. Harlan sat upright.

"And then I act on the governor's verdict."

"I think Harlan meant, what will happen to us?" Link offered.

"I know what Mr. Trench meant. What do you think should happen to men who avoid making arrests by killing their prisoners?"

Harlan raised his hands. "Whoa, wait a minute. Gerrard wasn't a prisoner; we were all involved in a shootout. And Lantern committed suicide rather than−"

"Rather than have his head blown off? And Gerrard wasn't trying to run away?"

Silence spread itself comfortably over the table, smirking as the two agents struggled for a response.

"How- how did you−?"

The blank face loomed larger. "Lot of people pay attention when shots are being fired. They tend to look to see what's going on rather than hide. And suicide? Son, let me just say don't take up poker for a living."

The chair scraped again as the marshall stood, towering over the table. He slipped the booklet into his shirt and gave a slight frown, the first alteration they both had ever seen on his face.

"You boys behave now." He touched the brim of his hat, turned and left, taking their breath with him.

"He never really answered us did he?"

"Nope, but he didn't sound like he was too much against what we did."

"No . . . he didn't." Harlan twisted his beer mug on the table. "About that, Link−"

"Don't even go there, partner. It's done. We did it. Move on."

"Is it safe to call you my favourite customs men today?" Myrna helped herself to a seat and tapped Harlan's hand with her fan. "Someone in the kitchen has been almost uncontrollable over the marshall's visit."

"Well she doesn't have to worry."

Myrna looked aghast. She turned to link and pointed at Harlan. Link did a closed eye shrug. "Don't tell me that you donkey brained idiot! Go and tell Dawn!"

Harlan shuffled to the kitchen and pressed the door open slightly. At the cooking table in the centre of the room, Dawn was leaning with her face in her hands and he could see from her movements she was crying. He stepped in and moved to her side, one arm across her back and his lips to her ear. She jerked up suddenly with surprise, banged his head then grabbed him and hung on tight.

"Oof! Hey, easy, easy, Dawn." He moved her back a bit and smiled at her expression.

"Goodness, you look like you lost your best friend."